


Sesame Syrup

by Abyssiniana



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blindfolds, Clubbing, Consensual, Consensual Kink, Consensual Sex, Gangbang, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Jock Straps, M/M, Minor Breeding Kink, Multiple Orgasms, Multiple Partners, Oral Sex, Orgy, Rimming, Rough Sex, Sex Tapes, Shiro has a little fun with strangers, Shiro has just found out of his degenerative disease, Threesome - M/M/M, Voyeurism, amateur recording, before Adam, before Keith, but he ain't coping, pre-pre-Kerberos Mission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-30 12:27:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15751656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abyssiniana/pseuds/Abyssiniana
Summary: «Several railroad switches of consecutive bad decisions had led to this train wreck of a situation.»--as in, the Galaxy Garrison's Golden boy has a bad way of dealing with his pain.





	Sesame Syrup

**Author's Note:**

> Kids, say no to bareback.

Several railroad switches of consecutive bad decisions had led to this train wreck of a situation.

 

For starters, going out clubbing wasn’t something you’d normally find Takashi Shirogane doing. The reason for that was that he hardly found any appeal in overly loud music and sweaty dancing corpses, fueled only by the drink in their hand, the lips on their necks, the nameless phone numbers saved on their contact lists or the nameless faces sleeping in their beds the next morning. That wasn’t something he wanted to be a part of. But for all the times Takashi Shirogane had been good, he felt within the right of doing some bad.

 

The second mistake of the night had been that drink and the bunch of the same that followed. Whatever was in it was certainly more than he had paid three dollars for; that or he simply couldn’t take alcohol as much as he thought he could. As a proudly responsible nineteen-year-old Galaxy Garrison pilot and soldier, red wine was the most commonly consumed beverage and it never tainted his judgement as much as black vodka did.

 

The guy he had danced with was mistake number three. Immediately after came mistake number four and five; allowing the stranger to kiss him and kiss the stranger back, respectively.

 

There had been a few minor missteps in between - from the wild hickey on his collarbone to the brave hand cupping his buttcheek and the delivered blowjob within the constricted limits of a bathroom stall - but the sixth and most consequential bit of poor judgement and lack of proper evaluation of the overall situation and possible outcomes happened when Takashi Shirogane said yes to the man’s proposal.

 

“I’m a director, you see,” he had said, chest heaving as he helpfully wiped the remnants of his cum from Shiro’s cheek with his thick thumb and guided it back into his mouth, “and my friends and I have been looking for someone new.”

 

* * *

 

  
He vaguely recalled walking - rather, staggering - the short distance to the closest _Luckee Star_ motel, a dead “no vacancy” neon sign flickering under the false advertisement just outside the parking lot. A large hand at the small of his back guided him through the entrance hall to cross the double doors to the backyard with an empty pool, and then up the set of stairs to the right. The room with the golden seven above the door became an ironic icon as the last indiscretion he committed before he lost count.

 

“You’ll be blindfolded, alright? All you have to do is sit tight,” the stranger - who probably had a name but Shiro preferred not to ask - instructed, “and let my buddies do as they please. Understood?”

 

Shiro nodded his head slowly, only imagining what he was effectively consenting for.

 

“I’m giving my friends a call to let them know you’ll be joining us.”

 

Said phone call was made outside of Shiro’s hearing range, but he made no effort to eavesdrop. Instead he helped himself to a quick shower, as had been advised to. The bathroom’s area was incredibly reduced, way too cramped between the sink and the toilet, designed to fit no more than one person, which was either intentional or simply miscalculated, taking in account the rented bedroom had a double bed meant for a couple.

 

When he returned to the bedroom with a towel around his waist and his clothes under his arm, he noted that two high caliber cameras had been set up in their respective tripods, pointing towards the bed in two distinct angles. If this guy was truly an amateur video director he’d stay in that level for as long as he didn’t understand the properties of light and camera positioning; the video that would be captured by the camera closest to the door would consist of nothing but black blobs moving against faint yellow light, Shiro was positive.

 

He would let the man figure that out by himself.

 

“Ah, you’re back. Here, put this on. You can keep it afterwards, consider it a gift.”

 

A brand new set of jockstraps, still in the original package. Did this guy keep a bunch of these in his travel bag just in case he met a potential actor for his videos? Incredible. He put them on with no ceremony whatsoever to hide his muscled body from the only present witness. This particular design was rather intricate in comparison to what Shiro was used to from the most conventional pairs he owned, with a series of extra straps for show and the ones in the back to boost his round butt cheeks even more, framing his glutes just fine.

 

The Director - whose profession would now be referred to as a first name - pulled out a smaller pack from within a duffel bag. He dug inside it while whistling a song that was popular enough to be familiar to Shiro’s ears, yet too out of tune to actually match the melody. He sat on the bed, casually crossing his legs.

 

When a snort tube was held towards him he politely refused the offer. There were some lines he would most definitely not cross, come hell or high water. The Director wasn’t pushy about it, dusting his own nose with some cocaine instead with an indifferent shrug that read “your loss”.

 

He returned to the bag, digging out for what could only be a bottle of lubricant, and a black cloth.

 

“Safeword is “sesame syrup”. Think you can remember that?”

 

Easy enough, however silly. Shiro supposed that was the point, a safeword could never be something you’d spit out of reflex like “no” or “stop”, but should also be simple to remember in the brink of sanity. Absentmindedly, he repeated the word, feeling the taste of it in his mouth before nodding.

 

“Perfect. My boys shouldn’t push it too hard, but if you’re ever feeling uncomfortable, don’t hesitate to let them know. They’ll stop immediately, I’ll make sure of that.”

 

That was almost kind, Shiro supposed, considering the circumstances he got himself into. He had literally checked every tick box of Things To Not Do When Going Out At Night and was still a bit too tipsy to regret them. He watched, keeping his face hidden from the camera for the time being, as the Director filmed a little intro for what he believed to be an amateur masterpiece.

 

“Ryou here…” Good thing Shiro remembered to provide the stranger with a fake name. The director spoke into the camera, ridiculously picking it up above his head and rotating around the room for a lousy vlog effect. “Has agreed to be fucked by anyone. He has no idea who’s coming for his ass, or how many men will have him, but he promised he’d be a good cum dump and take them as they come.”

 

Putting the challenge like that made the Japanese man momentarily hesitate. “Cum dump” felt more like an insult than it was intended to, but there was no way around it. The camera was then switched off and placed back in the tripod.

 

"Alright. They'll be arriving shortly." The black bandana was folded with practiced ease against the Director’s thigh before it was held up before Shiro’s closing eyes. “Don’t forget-”

 

“Sesame syrup. I won’t.”

 

“Good boy.” The cloth blinded him into a welcoming darkness, his lashes fluttering closed. He couldn’t see a thing, but he supposed he wouldn’t have to. Faceless hands would guide him where he needed to be, be it pinned down on the bed or with his ass up in the air.

 

* * *

 

The Director was a comforting presence for a while, teaching Shiro where to blindly grope the mattress for the items he may come to need: lube, a towel to bite on, a spare snort tube should he change his mind.

 

He certainly wouldn't, but didn't speak against having it within range.

 

When the cell phone rang with a call to notify them of the arrival of the guests, he didn't feel the Director's touch again that night. 

 

The cameras were rolling, the room temperature falling drastically face to the silence that followed after the door was closed with a click.

 

Having his eyes covered enhanced his other senses, Shiro learned with the experience. Not knowing what was coming, leaving the guess up to his senses made the whole experience more intense. He felt the scent of different colognes, along with the bleach used by the motel's hired cleaning company to disinfect the bathroom. He heard footsteps, hesitant. Felt a presence, reconsidering. A hand, holding his chin up.

 

It would have been even more gratifying to experiment this type of play within a more private environment, with perhaps a single partner, a lover. But Shiro knew he wasn't meant to be loved; not when his life was as uncertain as the day after.

 

He shook that thought away. For one night he wouldn't be the poor boy with a life shortening muscle degenerative disease, and just... Shiro. Or Ryou, whatever.

 

The sound of a zipper being dragged down made Shiro gasp silently. Whoever stood before him was taking their time, maybe stroking themselves at the sight of someone willing to take their length. Hesitantly, Shiro's hands rose, driven by the curiosity and the despair of wanting, of having to know who was touching him.

 

The name didn't matter; the man's face much less. All that mattered was the hardening member he took into his mouth - the second that night - sucking all the softness out of it in an instant. A rough hand carded through his black forelock, tugging it away and forwards again, creating a bobbing rhythm for a customized blowjob.

 

He gripped on the thick fabric of the man's jeans, forcing the stranger's volume further until the entrance of his throat, a little beyond what he could handle. The other didn't seem to mind, driving his hips to seek that gagging point again and again, dragging out his cock across the expanse of Shiro's long tongue.

 

Following the urge to explore, he trailed his hands upwards, blindly lifting a T-shirt to feel the abs of a scrawny man, hairy to some extent. Not the type of body he would normally be attracted to; gladly he avoided any sort of expectation, and with his eyes deprived of their function, this man would do just fine.

 

He let his mouth be used, cheeks hollowing with the suction, a groan that came from deep inside his throat sending vibrations down the stranger's muscle.

 

The thing with the blindfold... there was always room for surprises. And the surprise came when his hands were grabbed by another set, someone from behind the first man.

 

"That's right, you got two dicks right here for you."

 

His heart skipped a beat at that. He was pushed back, his legs held up, breath kicked out of him when he felt a tongue teasing at his entrance, a starving beast feasting on his entrance. He groaned, trying to become as comfortable as possible with the situation.

 

It was sex. Plain and simple. With his eyes covered, there was nothing for him to be ashamed about, no faces to recognize, no cameras to acknowledge. Just him, and the physical prowess of these men, these two men who seemed more than eager to give and take what they wanted from Shiro.

 

Having his hole eaten out for the first time was a bit odd. It tickled when his perineum was teased, the tongue flat. The second guy who had a taste of him seemed to be a bit better at it - perhaps more experient? -, but it didn’t last as long.

 

He felt hands on his hips to make him turn belly down, a cock requesting entrance through his lips and another wanting to fill him up. The first was granted with a groan, tongue sticking out to the musky taste with a hint of sweat of someone who probably showered just before a car drive to the motel. As for the second, it took a few frustrated attempts, and at least thirty percent of the contents of the lube bottle, but the damn thing got in. Shiro felt it the hard way. It stretched him harshly, making him regret not preparating with a little fingering first. 

 

The man who was using him seemed to get the hang of him soon enough, the slick cock sliding easily in and out of Shiro, his moans loud, hands worshipping across Shiro’s chiseled abdomen. 

 

"That's a fucking good ass..."

 

Sounds of slapping skin soon echoed in the cheap bedroom, the creak of the bed making Shiro glad there were no other guests in the rooms around and below them. The two men took turns in fucking him, no interval between the removal of one and the insertion of the other.

 

They made him rise up to his fours, his knees burning against the silky flowered duvet the longer he had to withstand that position. Unlike what he’d expect, he stopped feeling the blunt ache on his knees, as the sharp thrusts increased in both force and depth.

 

“Ah!” He moaned, considering the option of making use of that towel to bite on rather than gritting his teeth. He unleashed his hard member from the suddenly too tight underwear, pumping it through the thrusts, because  _ oh fuck that felt good, there-- _

 

"Shit, baby..." Shiro heard, after a severe slap on the side of his thigh, bound to leave a fading hand print. He thought the nickname might have been directed at him, but was surprised with the sloppy sounds of two mouths seeking one another, a passionate kind of encounter which seemed a bit... out of place. Were the two men behind him together or something? Was it a kink to share an ass rather than the intimacy of each other? Heck, they may just be playing the game and Shiro was jumping to conclusions.

 

While he held his ass up in some lousy motel bed, he wasn't the one to criticize others' views and preferences on the vast offer of ways to indulge in love making as a couple.

 

"Fuck that ass until you come, baby. Give it to him."

 

With a series of whimpers and even harsher pumping of hips, the skinny guy did come, pulling out before doing so. Before the Japanese man could appreciate that gesture and breathe out a relief, he was immediately filled with the other's aching member. He was going to finish soon, reaching deeper within Shiro than his less gifted boyfriend did.

 

Shiro was left panting on his fours, the cum drops he had earned from the two lovers pearling on the smooth surface of his ass cheeks. Beneath him, rutting against the sheets, his cock demanded for a little more attention, leaking at the tip. Should he touch it? Fuck, he wanted to, while the mental and physical memory of having been shared by two men at once was still very livid.

 

The door opened after a few minutes, but there was no way of knowing if they had left or if some other person had joined them. Was the Director watching, or had he left the cameras to do the job in his place? His breath hitched when a new, bigger hand caressed his used entrance, a prurient finger pressing just past the ring as if admiring it.

 

"He's wet... I love that." Shiro thought he might have recognized an accent in that one-sided comment but didn't quite attempt to pinpoint its geographic origin. Not like he had the time to, anyway. The newcomer wasted no time in a hole already stretched by two men before him, disregarding the need for further preparation when he shoved a much larger girth past the rim of Shiro's entrance. He was fucked relentless by the third man, hips moving like steam powered pistons.

 

“Fuck!” He rasped, having to apply more force to his forearms so that his whole body wouldn’t be projected forwards with the strength behind the stranger’s thrusts.

 

His face was shoved into the mattress, his ear bent uncomfortably between the stranger’s rough hand but he didn’t say anything about that, opting by enduring the harshness he was being handled with. A particularly hard stoke had him whining almost pitifully, tears escaping the corners of his covered eyes, sweat soaking the edge of the blindfold. That sound seemed to be what the third stranger sought, investing into powerful stabs, that over sized cock reaching Shiro's prostate timed with sharp aches. Shiro cried, he fucking might have, his whole body convulsing with the sweet paradox between pain and pleasure.

 

Pleasure won that duel and with a few synchronized strokes, he came. Insides twitching, whole body shaking he took notice that the Director's "friend" caressed him soothingly, as if cooing a crying cat, calming Shiro with a languid kiss on the shoulder blade.

 

It should have been considered a warning rather than a kind gesture.

 

Once Shiro returned from his high, the same hand that stroked him curled in a fist around his hair, pulling him back until his spine cracked an unhealthy sound as it bend into an arch, ass poking out. A thick forearm was pressed against his throat and he was held there as the force returned to the thrusting, full power into hammering his sensitive bottom.

 

He couldn't see; he couldn't move; he couldn't breathe.

 

_ But sweet Jesus, did that cock feel fucking marvelous inside of him. _

 

That man wasn't the last, but Shiro didn't bother counting after he left. He was so beyond numbers, so beyond logic, so beyond caring. He had fingerprints on his hips, autographs of the mouths of strangers painted in the form of purple hickeys across his torso, hand prints around his neck, bite marks on his shoulders. The cameras stopped rolling and had been packed hours ago, the room paid for until noon so he could have as much privacy as needed to recover from the pounding of a lifetime. Syrup slipped from his abused hole, the reddened flesh pulsing around the lack of filling. His blindfold had been lost at some point in the night, but he was too hazy to remember.

 

A business card had been left in the pillow next to him, a simple black front with fine white lettering. On the backside, a handwritten note:

 

_ "A pleasure working with you, Ryou. Until next time, _

_ \- Sesame Syrup Productions" _

 

There would most definitely not be a next time, but as the promised syrup spilled from inside him, "Ryou" was still too far from caring.


End file.
